<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Spark and Burn by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876724">Spark and Burn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf'>0hHeyThereBigBadWolf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of a Dragon and His Prince [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Traits, Biting, Bottom Arthur, Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Dragon Merlin (Merlin), First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Kink, Porn with Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:29:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur can tell that Merlin is reluctant to stay the night with him, he only wishes he knew why. He had thought it was perhaps something to do with him, but it turns out to be a problem that isn't even really a problem at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>"I've seen you do magic so powerful my hair stands on end. I've seen you slip your skin and become a dragon. Do you really think that a bit of scale and fang is going to bother me now?"</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of a Dragon and His Prince [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>761</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spark and Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Arthur is a bottom who likes it kinky and semi-rough, send tweet.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur has come to the conclusion that courting a dragon is infinitely more fun than courting noblewomen. Especially since courting this particular dragon doesn't actually involve any <em>courting</em> insofar as he knows it, and has much more to do with being kissed dizzy in dark corners and getting hands in some very inappropriate places. In all honesty, he had always thought that kissing was more of a preliminary event than something on its own, the warm-up before the match, so to speak. Not so to Merlin. They could happily spend what felt like hours involved with nothing but kissing and petting, either on the bed or in Arthur's chair with Merlin on his lap.</p>
<p>Which is exactly where they've ended up this time.</p>
<p>He tilts his head back against the thick furs covering the chairback when Merlin's mouth pulls away from him only to slide down to his neck instead with wet flicks of tongue and scrapes of teeth. "I don't mind the biting," Arthur gasps out, eyes closed against the sensation, "but try to stay below my collar this time. Father is going to think I've contracted leprosy if you keep leaving love-bites everywhere."</p>
<p>His dragon only chuckles, the sound vibrating against his skin, and drags his tongue in a long, wet stripe up the tendon in his neck.</p>
<p>"Oh, seven<em> hells."</em> Arthur digs his fingers into the surprisingly firm muscle of Merlin's thighs; on an abrupt surge of daring, he slides his hands up the other man's legs, briefly skimming over his arse before sliding up under the bottom hem of his tunic. He can't get very high up, as Merlin still has his belt on, but he can stroke fingers over the small of Merlin's back, smooth and warm.</p>
<p>What he doesn't expect is for Merlin to suddenly lean away and wriggle backwards off his lap, yanking his tunic back down. Arthur blinks dazedly, feeling bereft and strangely cold without the heavy warmth pressing him into the chair. "Merlin? What's wrong?"</p>
<p>"Nothing, nothing," Merlin says, entirely too quickly. "I'm fine, it's fine."</p>
<p>No, it isn't fine because Merlin isn't on his lap anymore, isn't meeting his eye as he tugs at the hem of his tunic. Arthur leans forward in his chair and lays his fingertips against one sharp-boned wrist, not grasping. "What is it?" he repeats. "Did I…did I do something wrong?"</p>
<p>Immediately, Merlin turns to face him, reaching out to gently frame his face between both hands. "No, you didn't," he reassures, leaning in to kiss him once, soft.</p>
<p>"Then what?" Arthur reaches up with his other hand to cover Merlin's hands with his own, keeping him in place.</p>
<p>The young man hesitates, biting his lips together.</p>
<p>He hadn't meant to say anything about it, but this isn't the first time Merlin's made an unexpected retreat from their, ahem, courting sessions, and he still doesn't understand <em>why,</em> though he has a creeping suspicion that it's a matter of intimacy. If Merlin doesn't want to go to bed with him yet, it's perfectly fine, he just wishes the idiot would <em>tell </em>him. It isn't much of an issue on his part—hard to miss what one's never had, after all. In all honesty, Arthur hadn't anticipated ever going to bed with anyone until he was finally traded into a strategic marriage, so it isn't as though he's unused to waiting; he's long channeled his excess energy into training. Taking a deep breath, he says, "If you don't want to…spend the night in my chambers, I understand—"</p>
<p>Merlin turns a rather endearing shade of pink, the tips of his ears bright red. "It isn't that, Arthur. I-I do want to, but…." He withdraws his hands from Arthur's grip and takes a step away, as though he needs the distance in order to articulate himself. After a moment's pause, he turns on heel to face him, chewing at a thumbnail, then says abruptly, "I don't have full control over it yet. My skinchanging, I mean. It's only sometimes, but I can't quite…keep myself…." He closes his mouth and turns his gaze to the window, biting at his lower lip to the point where Arthur is almost concerned he'll draw blood. "I'll slip my skin. Not—not all the way…but a little. When I'm…" He sketches a vague gesture in the air, meant to encompass a wide variety of things but likely one in particular.</p>
<p>Arthur gazes at him in silence for a moment, not entirely sure what to say. It's always a coin toss with him because he either manages to make things better or make them far, far worse. Morgana's always told him that he would do best to stick to gestures and leave using words to others. Finally, he holds out a hand towards the younger man; Merlin hesitates a moment, then comes to him. Arthur slides an arm around his waist and tugs him down to his lap once more. "How much is a little?" he asks.</p>
<p>Merlin tucks his hand into Arthur's. His fingers are long and well-shaped, so it isn't quite so obvious that his nails are dense, narrowing to blunt tips. "I don't…really know, since we've not…" He makes that little gesture again. "But I get…scales. Bits of them. All over. They sort of…come and go. When I'm…happy."</p>
<p>"Do you have any now?"</p>
<p>Merlin chews his lip, then nods, gets off Arthur's lap, and loosens his belt, pulling his tunic up. There's a ripple of scales across each flank, mirroring one another like a purposeful pattern; they're more blue-purple in colour rather than the deeper black they are in his dragon form.</p>
<p>Taking to his feet, Arthur studies them for a moment, examining the way they merge smoothly into Merlin's skin, how they gleam brighter when the firelight hits them, how they move as he breathes. He extends a hand, and the younger man startles when he touches the scales, twitching away before forcing himself to stay still.</p>
<p>Curious, enraptured, Arthur traces his fingers over them. They're warm and surprisingly smooth, laid together so tight they're only faintly ridged. He draws his thumbnail along the scales, wondering how firm they are, and Merlin's entire body shudders in response, eyes closing. It's still him. A slightly different form perhaps, but it is still Merlin.</p>
<p>"Stay the night," he murmurs.</p>
<p>Merlin takes a step back, dropping his tunic. "Arthur…" Shaking his head, he backs up to the table and drops down to sit in the nearest chair. "Arthur, I-I just—I don't want you to have to—"</p>
<p>"Merlin." He steps forward and presses a hand over the sorcerer's mouth to silence him. He keeps his hand there a moment until Merlin gives him wide eyes, then withdraws. "Merlin," he repeats, softer. Arthur takes a step around the table, then grabs the back and the arm of Merlin's chair to forcibly pull the chair away from the table and turn it to face him.</p>
<p>Merlin blinks up at him, rendered silent as he rarely is otherwise.</p>
<p>"In all the years we have known one another, have I <em>ever once </em>hesitated to let you know when I didn't like something?" Arthur asks, hands on his hips, then goes on without waiting for an answer. If he lets the idiot start talking again, he won't stop. "Then what makes you think this is different?" Taking a deep breath, he reminds himself that trust needs to go both ways in order to work and says, "I've not done this before. I don't know what all I like, and there's nothing wrong with finding out. But that means you have to trust me. Understand?"</p>
<p>"I do," Merlin replies softly, then tilts his head slightly and asks with a touch more hesitance, "You've never? Not with anyone?"</p>
<p><em>It's a miracle he can communicate at all,</em> he muses. "No, I've never. Not with anyone," Arthur echoes back, amused.</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>Oh, gods' mercy, at this rate it'll be dawn before they even reach the bed. "Because if you had my father give you a three-hour lecture on the topic and what happens to a kingdom when the succession is tainted with bastards, you wouldn't think much of it, either. Now." He leans forward, hands braced on the arm of the chair. This close, he can see the sparks of gold in Merlin's eyes like far-off stars, see the pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. "Stop talking, Merlin. Stop talking, and make love to me," he murmurs, and Merlin's eyes widen slightly. "Consummate me." He places a knee in the chair beside Merlin's hip, then the other so he's straddling him, a reversal of their earlier position. "Devour me." Lowering his head, he breathes out softly against the shell of Merlin's ear, making him shudder. "Ravish me." He turns his head, their lips a hairsbreadth apart. "Fuck me."</p>
<p><em>"Vogt,"</em> Merlin rasps out, then surges forward to kiss him, hands buried in his hair.</p>
<p>Grinning against his mouth, Arthur eases himself back off the chair—it isn't as spacious or as comfortable, his knees are starting to hurt—and pulls Merlin up with him, pulling him in close. There's something different in his kisses now, something urgent and wanting, and Arthur wonders just how long Merlin's been holding himself in check. He opens his mouth to Merlin's exploring tongue, returns the favour—a sharp sting of pain.</p>
<p>"Ow," Arthur mutters as he pulls back, running his tongue around his mouth. He can taste blood. "Was that your teeth?"</p>
<p>Merlin presses a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"It's fine, just—" He pulls the hand away and runs his thumb over Merlin's full lower lip, smiling as his breath quickens. Gently, he presses a little more firmly, into the slick warmth of his mouth, and traces over his teeth. Sharp. Withdrawing his hand, he leans forward for another kiss.</p>
<p>Merlin is tense again, restrained, but Arthur refuses to give ground, pressing closer and sliding his hands under Merlin's tunic. He hadn't put his belt back on, so Arthur can reach further up. He spreads his hands over Merlin's back, and oh, he can feel the scales now, patches of skin of different texture. When he traces his fingertips over them, Merlin groans into his mouth like he's done something much more intimate. This time, when he runs his tongue into Merlin's mouth, he's mindful of the sharp edges of his teeth. He'd wounded himself plenty of times when he was a squire. It's nothing a little practice won't be able to fix. The faint copper newpenny taste of blood isn't…entirely awful, either.</p>
<p>"You really don't mind?" he asks, soft and breathless.</p>
<p>Arthur draws back to stare at him. "Merlin," he says flatly. "I've seen you do magic so powerful my hair stands on end. I've seen you slip your skin and become a <em>dragon.</em> Do you <em>really</em> think that a bit of scale and fang is going to bother me <em>now?"</em></p>
<p>The young man's silent a moment, breathing unevenly, but then he reaches down, wraps his arms low around Arthur, and picks him up. Just…picks him up, as if he weighs no more than a straw tick. Arthur does <em>not</em> squeak, absolutely not, gripping Merlin's shoulders tightly in surprise. He's just…not used to being manhandled, that's all it is. No matter that it makes his pulse race and his breath come quicker.</p>
<p>Still holding him up like a fair maiden in a tale, Merlin carries him over to the bed without much effort, then abruptly tilts forward to drop him on it; this time Arthur does make a…somewhat high-pitched noise, making his dragon laugh. "Shut up, you idiot. I'm not used to being tossed around like a bit of sacking," he retorts, but his voice is too husky, too wanting, to carry any real bite.</p>
<p>Merlin laughs. "As you say, my lord."</p>
<p>"Arthur," he corrects, sitting up to take the bottom hem of Merlin's tunic in hand and raise it. "Out there, I am your lord. In these chambers, I am yours." The words surprise even himself with their honesty.</p>
<p>Dark gold begins to seep into Merlin's eyes, but it has little to do with his magic. He raises his arms for the tunic to come off. Aside from the scales on his sides, there's also small patches of them across the tops of his shoulders, his upper arms. Arthur wonders how far down they go; he reaches for Merlin's laces.</p>
<p>He isn't nervous. Not really. It's hardly the first time they've been naked in front of one another. Arthur knows how the mechanics of everything work, at least in theory—the knights are worse gossips than the maids, and they have no qualms about discussing such things. And he trusts Merlin with this, with him. His dragon. Leaning forward, he kisses Merlin's lean belly, working his way over to the edge of the scales, wondering if they tasted different than the rest of his skin.</p>
<p>"Arthur. Arthur, you are wearing too many clothes still," Merlin pants, fingers twisted through his hair.</p>
<p>He gives the scales one last scrape of his teeth, hearing Merlin groan above him, then leans back. "Help me out of them, then," he replies.</p>
<p>He does, with far more efficiency than he's ever shown otherwise, and Arthur thinks in a lust-delirious sort of way that maybe he ought to reward good behaviour with sex from now on, then decides against it. If Merlin was a good manservant, then he wouldn't be Merlin.</p>
<p>"Wait," he rasps out when Merlin begins to kneel down in front of him, hands on his thighs. Not that Merlin doesn't have <em>magnificent</em> skill with that damned mouth of his, but that isn't what he's after now. Moving further back onto the bed, he crawls to the other side, yanks open the drawer, and after a moment's rummaging, comes up with a small vial of oil.</p>
<p>The gold in Merlin's eyes darkens to deep dragon amber as understanding settles. "You're certain?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Where did you get that?"</p>
<p>"Nicked it from the knights." He <em>can</em> be subtle when he wants to be. He knows full well that's what it's used for, too, because he had stolen it from Sir Carann's kit, and any time Carann and Talleas were sent on long patrol together, one of them invariably had a limp in the morning that had nothing to do with saddle aches.</p>
<p>The muscles in Merlin's throat work as he swallows hard. "Alright. Up on the pillows, then," he says.</p>
<p>Setting the vial on the bedding beside him, Arthur moves to lay in the middle of the bed, reclining back against the stacked pillows behind him, watching as Merlin crawls up onto the bed with him, moving with a strange, sinewy grace, as if he has muscles in places other people don't. Perhaps he does.</p>
<p>Merlin slides a leg over, kneeling above him yet scarce touching him, his eyes tinged gold as he gazes down at Arthur for a long moment; his body is hot, not just warm but <em>hot</em>, giving off heat like a sunbaked stone. He leans forward and places both hands on the bed beside his body, just beneath his arms. Arthur feels Merlin's hands flex against the sides of his chest, and he doesn't need to look to know that claws have extended from the tip of each finger, black as horn and sharp as a blade. It makes his breath come faster, pulse in his mouth.</p>
<p>Merlin's eyes never leave his, unblinking as he curls his fingers into the bed, digging in, and then slowly, slowly, begins to drag his hands downwards. The sheets go to ribbons, easily, but it's the thicker sound of the mattress tearing underneath it that brings a small sound from Arthur's throat. Merlin pulls his hands down, outlining the shape of Arthur's body against the bed.</p>
<p>When he reaches Arthur's hips, right where his knees are braced, he pulls his hands free of the bed and reaches out to grasp one wrist. Merlin tugs as if to raise his arms, but Arthur tenses his arm, keeping his hand tucked against his chest. For a split second, he throws a silently questioning look at Arthur, who lets the corner of his mouth curl up in answer; part of the game, nothing more. Merlin's eyes narrow slightly in playful challenge, and he tugs again, a little harder. Arthur stays tensed, breath coming quicker. Adjusting his grip, Merlin pulls again, this time not letting up. Arthur still holds himself tense, so he keeps the arm, but Merlin pulls his entire body upright instead. Strong, so <em>strong.</em> Alright, perhaps Arthur enjoys that bit.</p>
<p>Once he's up, Merlin braces his other arm around Arthur's back, the cool tips of his claws pressed into him. Arthur relaxes his arm, sliding it around Merlin's shoulders instead, pressing close for another kiss. His other hand reaches out to the side, groping blindly over the rumpled bedcovers until he finds the cool glass of the vial, fumbling it into his grip. Merlin moves to catch his wrist, prying the vial out of his grasp; Arthur swallows hard, a tremor of genuine trepidation coiling in his belly as he stares at those sharp black claws. It eases, however, when Merlin flexes his hand again, claws retracting into human nails.</p>
<p>"I'm not <em>that</em> mad," his dragon chortles, voice thick with amusement and arousal.</p>
<p>"Shut up," he murmurs. His gaze doesn't venture from Merlin's hands, absorbed in watching him pry the stopper from the vial, carefully dripping oil onto his fingers, rubbing them together. "Merlin…"</p>
<p>"Lay back."</p>
<p>Obediently, he moves back up the bed, but when he starts to turn over on his belly, a push to his shoulder sends him to his back instead.</p>
<p>"I want to see you." Merlin's voice sounds as though it comes from the very depths of his chest, a rasping growl underlying the words. He moves closer, his hips spreading Arthur's thighs further apart, oil-slick hand reaching down, down…</p>
<p>"Ah!" Arthur's back arches up off the sheets without conscious thought, hands clutching at the sheets. It feels different, a strange sting to it, but <em>good, </em>so very good, fingers gently sliding further into him, twisting, flexing. When they curl just slightly, pressing against him, Arthur has to bite his hand to keep from outright yelping, toes curling on the sheets. Above him, Merlin's gaze has gone wholly amber now, not a trace of blue left, eyes slightly wide with a mix of wonderment and lust as he moves his fingers in and out, occasionally bending them at that one certain angle to make Arthur's entire body spasm against the bed, helpless little gasps torn from him.</p>
<p>He isn't certain how long it goes on, only that it <em>feels</em> like an age, and though it feels good, it doesn't feel good <em>enough,</em> wanting for more. "Please," Arthur gasps, one hand coming up blindly to grip the nearest part of Merlin, a strong-muscled shoulder. "Oh, gods, Merlin, <em>please."</em></p>
<p>Merlin gives a deep rumble from the bottom of his chest, and the sound makes Arthur shudder all over again. He withdraws his fingers at last, reaching for the oil again to slick himself, fumbling down between them, squirming, shifting, until finally something aligns. Arthur presses his head back against the pillows, hands flailing up blind until he catches hold of the headboard, needing to hold onto <em>something</em> as Merlin slides into him, deeper and deeper.</p>
<p>Once Merlin is in him to the hilt, neither of them move, trying to adjust. It's too much and not enough, stinging discomfort and glorious pressure, and he cannot <em>breathe,</em> gasping like a man half-drowned. When he remembers how to loosen his grip again, Arthur releases the headboard and instead wraps his arms around Merlin's back again, clutching at the sharp rise of his shoulder blades, fever-hot skin and scale rippling under his touch. The contact seems to bring Merlin out of his own daze, because he eases his hips back and pushes forward again in slow, shallow thrusts. Arthur can't seem to remember how to control his limbs, but they move on their own, knees hitched around Merlin's waist, fingertips digging into the flexing muscle of Merlin's back. "Come…come on," he urges, voice choked and raw and barely his. "Merlin, please, please, come on."</p>
<p>Eyes burning amber, Merlin <em>growls,</em> and Arthur cries out, feeling the vibration of the sound tremble through his entire body like a plucked bowstring. Bracing himself more firmly, Merlin begins moving with purpose now, finding a steady rhythm after a few uneven thrusts, pushing Arthur into the sheets. He lowers his body to Arthur's, all sweat-slick and hot, hands sweeping over every bit of exposed skin he can reach without giving up their position.</p>
<p>Arthur can feel the points of those claws pressing into his skin like small knifepoints, almost-almost piercing, almost-almost killing. He thinks about what he's seen those claws do to the mattress, what they could do to <em>him</em> with just a bit more pressure, a bit more force. It makes his pulse rise with more than just arousal, and it brings him to the edge and over in a glorious spasm of white-hot pleasure, spending on their bellies. Arthur sinks his teeth into Merlin's shoulder to muffle his voice and catches a bit of scale under his teeth, firmer than the surrounding skin; he tilts his head a little to fit his mouth more fully over the scales and <em>bites</em>. Above him, Merlin cries out and shudders and spills heat into Arthur's body.</p>
<p>Arthur groans when Merlin collapses onto him, going loose-limbed against the bed. For a while, all he can do is lay there, catching his breath and feeling boneless in the lazy wash of pleasure. "Stay still," he rasps, eyes shut tight when Merlin begins to shift atop him.</p>
<p>"Aren't I heavy?" Merlin whispers back, breath tickling the shell of Arthur's ear.</p>
<p>"No, now stop bloody moving," he grits out through his teeth. Merlin <em>is </em>heavy, heavier than one would expect from someone so lanky and rawboned, but the weight of him is bearable. It's actually rather pleasant, despite the general sweaty stickiness of their bodies. And Merlin is still buried inside him, every little movement sending sharp-bright aftershocks up his spine.</p>
<p>Contrary to the damn last, his dragon still moves before Arthur wants him to, easing out and falling over onto his side. Arthur turns his head to look at him, and he comes to the conclusion that the only thing that looks better than Merlin clothed is Merlin naked, half-scaled, and thoroughly shagged out. "Do you want me to…?" Merlin sketches a gesture over them.</p>
<p>"If you would. I'd say draw me a bath, but I can't feel my legs below the knee at the moment, so I wouldn't be getting into it anyways," Arthur drawls back, and Merlin snorts.</p>
<p>A flicker of gold, and they're both lying clean and dry on fresh sheets. Merlin must've mended the mattress underneath too, since it doesn't seem to be oozing feathers anywhere. "Sharp trick." Reaching over, he traces a fingertip over the ridge of Merlin's shoulder. There isn't even a mark left where he had bitten Merlin, which is entirely unfair considering how often Arthur ends up spotted with so many love-bites he looks like a damn trout. "Did I hurt you?" he murmurs.</p>
<p>"No. Did I?" Merlin's hand strokes down his hip and thigh.</p>
<p>"No." He's sore, yes, but he's had worse from training matches, and this feels unfathomably better than a pulled muscle. Arthur yawns widely, letting his eyes close, but he has to open them again only moments later when he feels the bed shift, the heat of Merlin's body retreating. "I was jesting about the bath, idiot. Where are you going?" he asks.</p>
<p>Merlin stares at him, looking foolish as he's gone still whilst half-risen from the bed like some kind of absurd still-life painting. "To…uhm, to my room?"</p>
<p>Arthur wonders if it is actually possible to, as Sir Carann so elegantly put it, bugger someone stupid. Or stupider, in Merlin's case. Sighing, he gingerly sits upright, trying to keep his weight more on his side because oh yes, he is definitely sore. "You're a young man, Merlin. You have a decent memory. Do you or do you not recall me asking you to spend the night in my chambers?" he asks with slow enunciation.</p>
<p>His dragon shifts his weight a little, still half-standing and half-sitting on the bed. "I thought you were talking about…" A vague hand gesture. "…this."</p>
<p>"I was. And this—" He mimics the little hand-wave. "—includes you spending the night in my chambers. So." He nods towards the empty stretch of bed.</p>
<p>A small, pleased smile finds Merlin's face, that private little smile that makes Arthur's chest feel tight from the great expansion of love within him. Lifting the sheets, Merlin sits down and slides back up onto the bed. But he doesn't come any closer, either, staying on the far side of the bed, almost on the edge of the mattress. As though he hadn't just quite literally been inside Arthur.</p>
<p>Sighing, Arthur lays back down, reaches out, and drags Merlin over to him. It isn't entirely easy, given how heavy he is, and the sheets end up bunched up between them, but now they're lying as close as they had been before the idiot moved. "You're so warm," he murmurs, stroking a hand over Merlin's flank, tracing the scales. "I won't even need extra blankets come winter with you here. I'll just let you sleep on top of me."</p>
<p>Merlin's eyes widen a degree, either from the implication that they'll still be doing this in winter or the idea of him sleeping on top of Arthur. A moment of hesitation and then he lifts a hand to touch Arthur's chest, palm over his heart. He opens his mouth, closes it again, then asks slowly, "Can you…would you turn over?"</p>
<p>Bemused, Arthur turns over onto his other side, facing away from Merlin. His confusion dissipates, however, when a wiry arm slides over his waist, Merlin pressing up against his back, breath tickling the nape of his neck. Oh, this is rather nice. It isn't only the warmth or the contact, but rather the sense of…safety he feels having someone at his back who will <em>have</em> his back. Arthur turns his head until he can see Merlin in his peripheral vision. "Be here in the morning," he murmurs.</p>
<p>"I will." Merlin's fingers lightly stroke his chest. His voice is so low it's almost more vibration than sound when he speaks next. <em>"Îshta."</em></p>
<p>"Mm?" Arthur stirs against the encroaching wave of sleep. "Whassat?"</p>
<p>Lips brush the nape of his neck. "Nothing. Go to sleep."</p>
<p>He does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Îshta—beloved<br/>Vogt—a Drakine vulgarity, "fuck," (not the physical act)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>